


Trick

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, M/M, Prostitution, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is a high priced rent-boy. Jim is his favourite client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [affectingly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/gifts).



Leonard is the kind of whore you fuck in a penthouse suite.   
  
If Jim didn’t know better, he’d call him an  _escort_. Jim books him via text message, pays up front, checks into the hotel under a pseudonym, and always arrives half an hour prior to their ‘appointment’.   
  
It’s basically a whole dog and pony show Jim could seriously do without, because he doesn’t actually live in a bad Hollywood movie and has no interest in being the kind of guy that thinks he does, but honestly? If he has to live on SpaghettiOs for a week and buy one-ply sandpaper toilet roll, that’s a concession Jim is willing to make. He’s pretty sure he fakes being a classy rich guy pretty well, too, even if he dry-cleans the same fucking suit each time he meets with Leonard. But hey, it’s a nice suit, and he doesn’t usually spend that much time in it anyway, all things considered.   
  
Thing is, Jim thinks he’s got a sex addiction. He thinks he’s got a very  _specific_  sex addiction to a very specific rent-boy who in turn is unfortunately not as specific about sex.   
  
Jim can deal with that.   
  
He’s not the kind of freak-show that falls in love with a guy that trades money for sex and then gets dangerously jealous of all the other johns. Leonard isn’t his, isn’t anybody’s, for all that his profession entails.   
  
Still, the whole  _shouldn’t-be-doing-this_  aspect to the whole fucked-up situation doesn’t stop Jim from paying money he definitely doesn’t have for two hours with Leonard every two months.   
  
It doesn’t stop the warmth that thrums through him when he answers the door and finds Leonard there.   
  
It doesn’t stop Jim at all.  
  


oOo

  
  
“I want to tie you up,” breathes Jim.   
  
He’s balls-deep in Leonard, hips flush with the perfect curve of his ass. The position is a tense squeeze for them both, but Jim still inches up closer, folding the other man’s legs up tight against his chest and hooking his elbows under Leonard’s knees to bend him practically double. Leonard grunts at the unrelenting press of Jim’s cock, squirming, his eyes fluttering briefly closed.   
  
“I don’t do that kind of thing,” Leonard says, reaching to grip the headboard of the bed and using the leverage to tilt his hips up to meet Jim even more fully. Jesus  _fuck_  that’s hot. “Told you before, Jim.”  
  
“You’ve told me a lot of things before.” There’s a certain thrill to keeping Leonard pinned like this, just sunk  _in him_ , hips still, frozen in the moment of penetration. Jim wants to tie him down, restrain with more than just his arms and legs and cock. Wants the freedom to reach up, drag his head back by his hair, and suck marks into his throat.   
  
“And yet, nothing I say seems to register,” groans Leonard, tossing his head and flipping a lock of dark, damp hair out of his eyes. “Evenings with Jim, variations on a theme. Number twenty-five: in one ear, out the—”  
  
Jim shuts him up with a savage thrust that has Leonard tightening hot and slick around him, moaning helplessly as Jim corkscrews directly onto his prostate. He then proceeds to fuck him soundly into complete incoherency.   
  


oOo

  
  
“No,” says Jim, batting Leonard’s hands away when they try to settle on Jim’s waist. “Grip the headboard. No touching me.”  
  
Leonard whines in frustration and a bright stab of lust rockets through Jim. He steadfastly ignores the ugly feeling of deep satisfaction he gets that he’s able to do this to Leonard, to make him unravel, get flustered, to want Jim as much as Jim wants him. Pinching his knees in at Leonard’s waist, Jim sits up straight and lets himself sink down another inch onto his cock, biting his own lip at the sweet stretch and burn of fullness.  
  
“Headboard,” repeats Jim firmly, when Leonard just harrumphs under his breath and writhes, his hips moving restlessly. “ _Now_.”  
  
Leonard finally complies, slowly bringing his hands up over his head to grip the wood, his eyes opening to meet Jim’s, hazy and shot all through with green. “Brat. Bossy, pushy as all—”  
  
Jim grinds down, splaying his thighs to make the glide easier, and Leonard arches, uttering a low, gasping moan and rocking up into Jim to meet his slow descent until they’re as deep as they can go, Jim spread wide, Leonard sprawled gasping beneath him. The heat and thrust of Leonard’s cock holding him open makes Jim catch his breath, chest heaving, as he leans forward and wraps his hands around Leonard’s wrists.   
  
“I want to tie you up.” His voice comes out a lot less controlled than he’d like, breathless and quivering, like he’s steps away from collapse. Leonard stares up at him, eyes dark and wide, his upper body taut with the effort of keeping from moving. His gaze flickers, travelling down Jim’s body, from eyes to lips to chest to flushed red erection jutting up between their sticky bodies.   
  
“Jim—”  
  
“What?”  
  
“For fuck’s sake, I don’t do that shit, Jim. Not even with you.”  
  
The flare of emotion this conjures in Jim is equal parts pride that Leonard sets him apart from others and frustration that it’s still not enough. He forces his expression flat, grips Leonard’s wrists tighter, and starts fucking himself in short, contained curls of his hips. It’s a strain, but it’s driving Leonard slowly and surely to the edge of reason, and that’s enough for Jim.  
  
Releasing Leonard’s wrists, Jim jacks himself off in rhythm with the steady, spare movements of his hips.  
  
He comes over Leonard’s chest and face.   
  
The glazed look Leonard gets as he licks Jim’s release from his cherry-red lips sends a bright blaze of triumph through Jim.  
  


oOo

  
  
Leonard has barely gotten through the door before Jim wrestles him to the floor, fights with his expensive clothes, showers his tanned, freckled skin with red bite-marks and sucking bruises, scraping with fingers and nails and tongue and teeth.   
  
“I want you on your knees,” he murmurs against Leonard’s plush, ravaged lips, digging his fingers into his hair and pulling. Leonard growls, hazel eyes flashing, and shoves back at Jim to give himself room to shed the rest of his clothes.   
  
Jim knocks him onto his knees, a hand on the back on his neck, the other wrapping around his wrists to tug his arms behind his back.   
  
“I want to tie—”  
  
“Yes, Jesus,  _okay_ ,” snaps Leonard, his voice muffled by the press of the carpet, though his exasperation is clear. “You maddening, persistent, controlling son of a bitch. Do it. Do whatever you want.”  
  
Jim does.  
  
And it’s a  _work of fucking art_.   
  
The rope is deep blue. Jim bought it ages ago, on a whim, and he’s had it with him every single time—just in case. He binds strong wrists, then elbows and upper arms, winding the smooth, silky length of rope over and around broad shoulders and a flat chest and stomach, then loops a noose around the base of Leonard’s erection, listening to his intake of breath with a half-smile. Jim checks Leonard’s circulation, stroking his hands over warm, tense skin, until Leonard is breathing raggedly, his hands clenching and un-clenching into fists, and he meets Jim’s gaze with vulnerability and arousal in his eyes.   
  
“Done trussing me up like a goddamn Thanksgiving turkey?” he demands, squirming fruitlessly against the neat, insistent ties. Jim’s left his legs free, but Leonard doesn’t try to get to his feet.  
  
“For such a high-class piece of ass, you’ve sure got the manners of a trashy hooker,” murmurs Jim reprovingly, a smirk clinging to his lips as he sinks two fingers into him. Leonard moans, shuddering.   
  
Jim fucks him right there, in the middle of the floor, on his knees with his legs spread open, face pressed to the carpet. One arm is wound around Leonard’s waist, holding him up to support his weight, while his other arm winds across Leonard’s chest, tucked under his armpit and around his throat in a loose embrace.   
  
It’s exactly what Jim wants but it breaks open something inside him and he ends up murmuring nonsense into Leonard’s ear, words that are too affectionate, too open, too loving. He can’t stop himself.  
  
When they’ve both come, breathing loud and harsh into the silence of the room, Jim realizes Leonard is trembling.   
  
“I’ve got you,” Jim murmurs unthinkingly, pressing a kiss to Leonard’s shoulder.   
  
Leonard’s breath hitches in his lungs. “Possessive asshole,” he whispers brokenly. He doesn’t ask Jim to untie him and Jim doesn’t want to let him go yet, so he just helps Leonard walk shakily to the bed, and they lie together for the rest of Jim’s two hours, neither of them speaking.  
  


oOo

  
  
The text message says  _I can’t see you anymore_.  
  
It takes a long time for Jim’s fingers to stop shaking. His reply is just one word:  _Coward_.  
  


oOo

  
  
It’s like clockwork.   
  
Jim finds himself at the hotel room on the second Friday of the second month. He checks in under the same name, takes the elevator to the penthouse suite. This time, he’s in jeans and a t-shirt, his leather jacket over his shoulder. His good suit is sitting in the back of his closet, still stained with come and sweat.   
  
There’s no reason to be here. No reason to think—  
  
Anything.  
  
Jim curls up fully dressed on the bed.   
  
Ten minutes before the two hours are up he hears the electronic lock  _snick_  and the door opens and shuts quietly. Jim opens his eyes.  
  
“Hey,” says Leonard, standing just past the threshold. He looks shockingly unfamiliar, shockingly  _normal_ , his hair mussed from the wind, face unshaven, and dressed in worn, patchy jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and a damp black woollen coat.   
  
“Hey,” says Jim. He sits up on the end of the bed, wary.  
  
“Was hoping you’d be here,” says Leonard gruffly. He shuffles nervously, and Jim notices he’s wearing battered sneakers rather the slick Italian shoes he normally has on his feet.  
  
“This better not be a pity fuck to say good-bye, or some shit.”  
  
Leonard shakes his head. “No. It’s not. C’mon. Let’s go get dinner. Don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starved.”  
  
It’s an opening. Not a perfect one, but an opening nonetheless.  
  
Jim takes it.


End file.
